Heaven's So Bright Its Gonna Blind Your Eyes
by malevolentrobot
Summary: Gabriel and Sylar, two haves of the same whole coping with one major apocalypse. An incredibly AU take on how Five Years Gone could have went. Maybe.


**_(Baby Boy) Heaven's So Bright It's Gonna Burn Your Eyes_**  
Sylar/Claire. Gabriel/Claire. 5YG AU. DID & underagedness.

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so this is basically my admitted refusal to take canon seriously, first draft written during S2. i was really hoping they were going to go with the HRG explained theory that DNA infusions were making sylar kind of kooky in the head... but i guess the hunger also makes sense.

a lot of things got screwed things up between then and the conclusion of the show and a lot of stuff got jossed in the time between writing the main parts of this, life, the show ending, and then me finally dredging it back up to post in final draft form. if you've seen this before... well, yeah, that's why. out of the ashes rises the phoenix and all that nonsense.

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Let's get something straight, they don't believe they are a god. At least in the beginning they didn't.

Logically speaking, this is an impossible. And they don't like impossibles. They don't understand mentioning the relevance of scenarios that cannot come to fruition, don't like the imposed boundaries of humanity now that they have become something so much _more_than mere human.

But this is one of the few they have to concede to: they are not a god.

The realization, however, doesn't really give credence anything. Even in mythology gods (yes, plural) rise and fall. Strict catholic upbringings fall under the weight of empirical logic, and empirical logic can fall under the weight of irrationality -_humanity_-, the irrationality of human emotions and perception of reality.

(They didn't realize that last point though, at least not until it was too late for them to come back from.)

That's actually not the point, nor is it the beginning.

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In reality the beginning -_except it's actually more like _in medias res, Gabriel points out- it goes something like this: Day zero patient zero wakes up alone in a lab in Odessa, the next in Chicago, Philadelphia, New York, but every place is the same: barren, wasted, rent. He finds no survivors in the rubble, and so he alone is completely cognizant the moment his mind fractures under the weight of his power. After some reflection it becomes apparent there is a strange dichotomy between Gabriel and Sylar, now that things have changed. So _he_ becomes _we_, Gabriel and Sylar in one vessel. Duality. United and perhaps even whole.

Gabriel at least thinks so. Sylar... not so much.

Sylar is highly amused by the idea of the apocalypse coming to fruition and if in fact, the situation is globally virtually the same as what they have seen so far. That is, until Gabriel (ever the humanitarian) points out quite succinctly that Sylar's endgame was all for naught. They may, in fact, be the most special person in the world after all, just for surviving a nuclear holocaust.

(Eventually this hypothesis is proven wrong when they find out a meager handful survived and all shipped out to Australia, but in some ways the theory can still stand because there aren't many people to choose from these days, and no one's playing the hero anymore, that's for damn sure.)

_This wont do at all_, Sylar muses.

He needs a way to get Gabriel back in the game.

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The thing is, Gabriel isn't in the game, for lack of better terms, because he knows he is as much responsible for this version of reality as Peter. It's not like he actually wanted to kill everyone, that would be highly illogical. Pointless.

But in a way by not averting it and instead taking a sword to the gut he doomed the world. He had both the power to stop Peter and the control to keep Ted's power in check, but in the end it comes down to a pesky little Asian time traveler royally fucking a good plan up, and doesn't it always?

(It should be too much for one person to bear, _it should_. It's a good thing Gabriel's got Sylar to help him.)

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It's been 1,110 days since the fallout and forty days in Melbourne, and nothing is interesting. Every city is the same, some industrial complex slash fallout shelter slash 24-hour nonstop rave because people are rather stupid with the time they do have once they know they are going to die with nobody watching. An unfortunate side effect, they suppose while realizing quickly that strobe lights and thumping bass are irritating as all fuck when coupled with enhanced senses, alcohol doesn't do the trick (_thanks, Claire-bear_), and they both vowed never to try MDMA again because, just, ugh _no._

Still, the clubs offer refuge and occasionally they met other people worth _getting to know_. No one blinks an eye at a dead body in a bathroom stall or a closet- so many people already dead, what's another? They're all too fucked up to really care. None of them scream (they already live in fear, and Gabriel wonders if what Sylar is doing might actually be God's work, heaven sent. If Sylar is an angel of mercy sent to him by God and this is really perhaps salvation in disguise).

Sylar just snorts at that erroneous thought and is, for the most part, just disgusted that this is what he has his immortality to look forward to. The survivors of the world go out with a revolting whimper, rather than a bang.

So they wander, half searching for answers, and half not really giving a shit, because nothing's really all that fun anymore.

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Day 1,245 they find a flower growing in the cracks of the concrete. A plain daisy sprouting up in the midst of ruin like a beacon of hope (noteworthy mainly because all of Earth's perennials have died since Day 378). Gabriel picks it, twirling the too small flower between their fingers. It's an excellent specimen, the petals crisp white, not yet sooty from the ash of the fallout, and not yet trampled under the feet of the savages left to lay waste to the few remaining cities on earth.

Humanity as a whole, they have decidedly came to the conclusion, are wretchedly foul creatures. And that's on top of their already total insignificance. They gather in giant mobs only to fear in numbers. They cower, tremble in their overpriced shoes and attack what they don't understand, instead of trying to analyze the data and come to a more sound conclusion. They are quick, save for the hulking knuckleheads (_but even those are quick to anger, quick to violence_, Gabriel chides Sylar, reminding him in vivid detail of split lips on the playground, dirty knees and broken glasses after school), striking fast rather than planning out a course of attack methodically, sweeping aside their own broken things under rugs, confidential files, radioactive wreckage.

All the same. Their stratagems are weak, and will fall under enough scrutiny. They know this. It is a proven fact that has not changed over the ages they have come to enjoy as a constant.

Sylar gives the petals names of victims he especially wants to remember. Gabriel viciously plucks off the petals one by one.

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They will admit that back when Earth was as it was they used to wait until they mastered a power before getting a new one. But now since the first wave of fallout survivors disappeared or died, it's slim pickings and Sylar takes what he can, despite Gabriel's protests that collecting should no longer be a critical imperative given the situation. Sylar realizes his charming naiveté involving the situation probably stems from the fact Gabriel didn't have to deal with the hunger very long, leaving that onerous task to Sylar, so it's rather expected he wouldn't realize that it's an all-consuming imperative, a_need_ from the tips of his fingers down to his toes.

He must understand more.

Still, Gabriel is gravely serious when he addresses this issue to Sylar, because there's the glaringly obvious shortage of unspoilt food now (a fact not even turning objects to gold will eventually be able to remedy), not to mention clean water. Almost everything is in various states of decay, suffering from traces of radioactivity since the fallout they couldn't help stop. And even though his body can fight off the radiation poisoning as quick as it permeates his cells, he's still human enough that the hypothesis is that he _might_ be able to starve to death (tests: inconclusive), evidence shows he probably has to eat.

And as quaint as it may sound, Gabriel's not actually at the point to start eating human flesh. (Or brains, _haha._)

(They do logistically wonder if it will get to the point where it will be the most viable option and Sylar's conclusion for them both is:_ perhaps_.)

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They finally stop their wandering when they get to the most gloriously broken wreckage they have ever found. An abandoned church straight out of a horror movie: cobwebs hanging from its high vaulted ceilings, depictions of the crucifixion in jewel toned glass covered with a fine layer of accumulated ash, pews broken as well as a few rotting from the constant, almost musical _drip-drip_ through the holes in the yawning ceiling.

It's the perfect place to call home since they are humanity's last salvation. It's just an added bonus that the place smells like an old and dear friend.

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Except the friend turns out not to be so dear after all and a lot more like rather annoying with the overt amount of clinginess, always interrupting his thoughts and eating half his meager stores of food. Claire Bennet has become a nuisance he never could have imagined, won't even leave the pew he's sitting at nattering on about something while he's earnestly trying to _pray_.

As much as Gabriel enjoys the company (_better the devil you know,_ he supposes is the logic she is employing because he's pretty sure only an apocalypse would get perfect little Claire to set next to him of her own free will) it irritates Gabriel how easy it is for her to distract them with a coy smile or a bat of her eyelashes.

Sylar just eats it all up with a stride.

_Who better a companion?_ He asks, flicking Gabriel on the forehead before pretending to mark him with a cross. _She's the perfect pretty toy to play with, one that will always look shiny and new and never _ever _break. Amen, brother._

"Why are you still here, Claire?" Gabriel finally asks, obviously annoyed now at the both of them. He can't tune it off and see the girl for the power like Sylar can, Gabriel gets clearly distracted by her feminine wiles no matter how much he pleads for Sylar to help him out. It seems that Sylar's cruel streak runs a mile wide because he just watches Gabriel flounder with an insouciant grin plastered to his face, whispering in explicit detail the promise of what he's going to make Claire do later that night while Gabriel watches.

"You know, they all just disappeared one day. Daddy, mom, Lyle, Peter-" Claire sighs, taking the disturbingly provocative lollipop (_mmm, cherry_) out of her mouth with a lewd pop, her sleek platinum hair falling in her face as she looks down at the ruins of what's left on her nails that might have been considered nail polish. "But then I found this place. And you're here and you can't die and neither can I and I don't want to be alone anymore, so just promise you won't leave, okay?"

She finishes with a shrug, as if her co-dependency on her old nemesis makes all the sense in the world. _Insufferable little girl_, Sylar sighs. _Still pretty though. And she should be rather flexible. We should test that._

Gabriel tries his best to keep his eyes looking at the crucifix up on the altar instead of thinking about how flexible she probably _is_ or looking at her cleavage showing through her provocative clothing Sylar is unabashedly staring at (God have mercy on us). Sylar smiles wolfishly before taking a seat comfortably between them, comments wryly to Gabriel that even his Jesus is broken, missing part of his cross and the arm to go with it.

And he can't help but think it's if Jesus is looking down mournfully on all of God's creation saying _I didn't save you all for this._

"Okay," he replies simply and when they look at her again, a silent battle of wills occurs between the two selves, and for the first time in a long time Gabriel wins. Sylar just throws his hands up, letting him relish the small victory while reevaluating his previous plan with a cruel smile. "If we are supposed to be the next Adam and Eve God really has a terrible sense of humor."

The Claire Sylar knew would have been appalled at such a statement thrown her way, but this new tough as nails Claire with her tiny outfits and candy apple red streaks just turns and smiles wryly at him.

She may be indestructible, yes, but they knew better, when they first saw her in Sydney before taking her powers later that night, slid her between them and the wall, and she didn't even fight. They saw the broken wreckage of her mind being salvaged as best as it could be to help her keep going, as they watch her dance. Even Sylar was struck with an unexpected wave of pity for the poor girl he couldn't ever kill.

And what Gabriel promised her might actually be something they hold themselves to because after that she begins to cling to him at night sometimes too, the makeshift bed he's got going with a pile of stacked mattresses. And, truth be told, it's not exactly what either of them though sharing a bed with her would be like. To Sylar's revulsion she occasionally cries on other nights, but those are few and far between. For the most part Claire is just blissfully gone and that isn't exactly the most fun type of toy Sylar wants to play with so he usually just leaves her alone. There's vacancy in her head he could easily fix, but even he knows it's for the best he doesn't. She doesn't want him to because the drugs and alcohol just don't work the same way when your body begins metabolizing them at an inhuman rate, and he thinks it says a lot that he respects her enough not to.

_Now if only she'd be that firecracker in bed like I hoped for_, Sylar grouses from his place slouched in the corner and Gabriel can't help the smile that creeps to the corners of his mouth.

(And Sylar knows this empathy, it's all Gabriel's doing. Claire humanizes him, something Gabriel seems to relish and its only those times Sylar finds himself being overpowered and reduced to the passenger seat.)

Sometimes at night Gabriel dreams (Sylar doesn't, but it's amusing to him to find Gabriel's limbs wound round hers and dissect the dreams Gabriel has for them both instead of noticing their persistent, painful erection pressed against her back) he's the hero of New York City, of the world. That blast that got so miscalculated, what was it that they said, _only point zero seven percent of the world's population?_ It's a wonder how they ever ended up still being the villain after that slight miscalculation.

Sylar supposes Gabriel dreams, clings to this one shred of hope so that there is something perhaps worth still fighting for, worth saving in this world, even though by both their calculations it's an admitted small percent. A fraction of a fraction, entropic slide slowly dwindling down into what might as well be nothing.

He already thinks it's nothing, anyway. He just needs to get Gabriel onboard now.

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The day that they wake up and can't rationally rule out insanity is an incredibly strange day, even by their standards. The duality of their nature has come easily to both of them, simply put they are two entities sharing rights to the same body. Except instead of being a ghastly specter looming near him while he's in control, Gabriel stares at the dingy mirror in the church's washroom willing his reflection to morph back to himself but his reflection stays Sylar.

They're beginning to integrate again and Gabriel is rebelling against becoming the other half of the very personality he created. He's under the auspice that because he's no longer anybody's hero or villain he doesn't really need Sylar there anymore if he's got Claire. Which is completely ridiculous.

And the thing that stings the most? He is special now, special for being one of the few alive.

Claire kisses him (Gabriel) in the middle of raiding a house for canned food that is not going so well until he sees her sliding the straps of her top off of her tanned shoulders in an obvious gesture of permission (_take this, its yours,_ her body says as she sways on the tips of her toes trying to match his height), but all he can think about is how her tongue tastes like ashes and the wrongness of the situation. Claire throwing herself at him in this tiny, dirty little shanty and he knows he'll inevitably succumb, not nearly as well disciplined as Sylar.

He's gentle with her, oh-so gently gives her what he hopes is her first time (_technically yes:_ _regenerating hymen_) but it lacks the teeth of what his mother warned him about and what Sylar boasted. It's mostly just _sad_, as he trys to move them to a bed but ends up taking her up against a wall, moving inside of her and holding her as tightly to him as possible while both of their tears flow. She keeps a firm grip around his hips with her legs, kissing him like an old lover and he brushes away her tears with a tender thumb, promises her nonsense that makes her smile before the hand she crept between them finally does its magic. Her hips stutter their rhythm with his and he nearly drops her when her legs loosen around him.

She slams her head into the wall behind them with a short gasp and he holds tight enough there would be bruises on anyone else but them, as her clenching walls coax him to his own release.

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They return to the church in silence, neither of them speaking a word to each other. She still looks freshly fucked, her lips still rosy from being kissed and Sylar is back to tormenting him, now with a narrative about how impressed he is that Gabriel had the balls to finally do the deed with the extremely-hot-yet-obviously-underage ex-cheerleader they've taken up residence with while he was gone. Gabriel just lights the candles and waives Sylar off. He's got enough guilt for the both of them and doesn't need _his_ contributions.

The crow's shrill call echoes overhead instead and he knows things are back to rights when Sylar returns to his place next to him, rests a ghostly hand on his shoulder.

"What are we missing?" He asks as he replays for Gabriel the fight with Peter over and over in his head, how any slight number of variables could have changed everything. They both know down to the millisecond every move that was made in those critical minutes, dissect and compare notes on the situation looking for the most obvious ways to change the scenario still.

Someone has to. All the time travelers are apparently stuck in time and all that's left here for the survivors is bitter, barren, and highly doubtful as inspiration for anyone left to stay living. After everything they've seen, it came as no surprise humanity wrought the greatest of evils, far worse than even Sylar could have imagined.

"You know what we have to do."

He does.

They open the only cellphone they have found that still has a charge, dialing out the number both have known by heart for years now, hoping there is a voice on the other line. When it rings a feeling of irrational hope flutters through their stomach.

"Mohinder," They make no room for pleasantries in case the phone dies abruptly. "Mohinder, listen to me, I need your help with something that's been troubling me greatly."

"Sylar, is that you?" _Yes, kind of._

"Gabriel," they automatically correct in unison, distancing themselves as much from the monster as possible to keep the conversation going.

"Given everything you've done, I can't say I feel sorry for the fact you're being troubled by the recent events," Mohinder sighs and the lack of background noise should be ringing off alarm bells in their head, but it's been so long and the second thing they will admit is that they've both missed Mohinder terribly.

"You shouldn't, I don't. Feel sorry that is." _Except he does._

"You killed my father." Sylar stays quiet, as Gabriel replies a succinct _I did that sounds a lot more like I've done far worse since, Mohinder, killed countless others. You're only special because your hatred is one of the few that has a name I know- _Sylar doesn't let him voice that.

"There is a popular saying, you know, that power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely," Mohinder replies after a moment of silence has passed, and Gabriel is surprised the younger Suresh didn't hang up the phone as soon as he heard the voice on the line. "It goes on to say that great men are almost always bad men. I suppose you didn't have to choose to be the monster that you are, but at the same time, the world cannot fault you entirely for the outcome of your actions."

"I just wanted to prove I was somebody." Gabriel just wanted to be special, all Sylar did was give him that. "And the hunger, Mohinder. The hunger."

"I believe you."

"I didn't want any of this to happen," Sylar begins, but the line is already dead.

"Did it help?" Sylar asks, and Gabriel shakes his head. There is no saving them, no salvation nor redemption even from the good doctor. They look at the phone in their hand, feel the weight and the smoothness of the plastic before Sylar decides to throw it across the room, tiny little jagged pieces falling down to the already littered ground.

Claire quietly gasps behind them.

"You're broken too, aren't you?" She asks, and he nods his head as she comes to sit next to him. He rests his head in her lap and she cards dainty fingers through his hair that never grows longer. "Are you even Sylar anymore?"

"Not entirely," he replies because he never lies to his Claire.

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Claire's disappears day 1,741. Just vanishes into thin air, no goodbye, no hastily scrawled love note or anything. It's just like they both knew she would, even if they hoped it wouldn't come to pass. Sylar knew sex wouldn't keep her, and Gabriel knew neither would having a kindred, and they both really had nothing else other than honesty and the possibility of death to offer her.

Gabriel recalls stories of how cats in the neighborhood would crawl under houses when they got weak, frail, to die alone brave, no one else ever knowing and to Sylar and idly wonders if Claire did the same even though they have at this point with how meagerly they've been eating he has a feeling his hypothesis was correct, neither of them can die of starvation.

They probably can't die from _anything_.

_Damn._

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On day 1,826 since the fallout, practically on the heels of Claire's departure from them, Gabriel wakes up and realizes that no matter how many times he calls for him or looks or wills him to be, that Sylar is gone. Instead of relief, he realizes what is sinking in the pit of his stomach- _dread.__ Turns out it was all false bravado, poor little meek Gabriel Grey needed Sylar after all._

The clarity of the situation does not comfort him in the least, and when time slows to a creeping halt and Sylar has been gone for 36 days Gabriel is surprised he's made it this far. No one else to his knowledge is alive (not even Claire, somehow), and he has come to the conclusion that the only way to save something is to save it yourself.

(This barren waste of a future left for them -_him_-, he'd rather take Pascal's wager of a possible hell. He doesn't want to live forever anymore.)

How to kill an indestructible man is something they both pondered for days, weeks even, until now. It's not going to be as simple as a noose like last time, and he's counting on the fact there will be no one to save him.

But today he figured it out and today he's going to do it.

He puts the gun to his head, knows exactly where to put the bullet so he never recovers, never comes back. One shot to the base of his skull with an exploding round, it'll shut down his autonomic nervous system before the regeneration can even process what has happened. He can force the bullet faster, maximize the potentiality of the small chunk of metal and lead, make it so that his head will explode entirely and he'll be dead in a mere fraction of a second.

Cocking the trigger, Gabriel smiles at the thought of peace finally, no longer having to hear the gear turning the twisted machinations in his mind, no more of the hunger's unquenchable thirst. Just a yearning for simple peace and the infinite blank quietness of when its over.

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"Doctor, his vitals have dropped off. He's crashing!"

"Powering to 400, and pushing another line of EPI. Clear!"

"Still unresponsive. Power to 500?"

"You heard Bennett's orders. Everytime he crashes, we bring him back."

"Clear!"

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_(Again and again and again and again...)_


End file.
